Sullen

Does my name strike you in the chest like arctic wind on bare skin or a heatwave from an oven door Or have the memories and associations turned to blank An image to picture A scent to happenstance The words to just sounds Did my face fade to another then to silhouettes then to shapes only to appear in a restaurant booth or each puddle along Route 8 Carry with you that piece of me however small it may be even if my name is just another outline amidst infinity